


here we are again

by thedisasternerd



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: But they're gay your honour, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post Lothal's liberation, Pre-Relationship, aye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:41:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28819407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisasternerd/pseuds/thedisasternerd
Summary: Neither of them said anything. Kallus just drew himself in, curled up against Zeb like a tooka and let Zeb rest his cheek on top of his head.Kallus sighed. It felt monumental, for some reason: the way his chest expanded against Zeb’s, how his head bumped against Zeb’s jaw and then fell away incrementally again, how suddenly there was so much hanging between them, unspoken words and curling emotions sinking in the air around them.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus & Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios, Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Comments: 3
Kudos: 75





	here we are again

**Author's Note:**

> If you see a running template for the fics I write for these two no you don't /j
> 
> Anyway: Kal needs a hug (Zeb does too), so he gets one

Zeb couldn’t quite think straight, after Lothal. He didn’t think any of them could.

Ezra was gone. He wasn’t dead, certainly not, the kid was like a cockroach, but he was _with Thrawn_ on a karking _star destroyer_ being led by _space whales_ and gods knew how many Imperial troops. To say Zeb wasn’t worried would be an outright lie - but he _did_ know that Ezra could handle himself. The kid was eighteen standard and a Jedi to boot. If anyone could survive and fight back, it would be Ezra Bridger.

Nonetheless, Zeb had to admit - he'd miss the kid. They all would. Even Hondo had been oddly quiet - for all that the Weequay had dubious morals, he had obviously been fond of Ezra. Not loved him like the Spectres had, certainly not that much, but still. Kallus, too - he and Ezra had often been the ones to work together in a companionable sort of silence.

But even though Ezra was gone (not quite like Kanan, but there was still an aching sense of loss about the crew) everyone else was still there, somehow still alive, on the ship. They were the priority now.

Zeb had done a few tours of the Ghost, taking note of them all. Rex was stretched out in the corridor with Wolffe by his side, talking quietly about times long gone; Zeb had heard _Ahsoka, Kenobi, general, Cody, Skywalker, commander, Jedi, brothers,_ when he’d passed them by. Hera was with Sabine in the cockpit, the younger curled up at Hera’s feet with her head on their captain’s thigh. Hera had her eyes closed and her fingers gently carding through Sabine’s hair, her other hand on Chopper’s metal flank. The droid had warbled a quiet greeting at Zeb, making Hera crack one eye open.

He'd given her a thumbs up and started backing out as quietly as he could, watching as Sabine shifted a little in her sleep and then settled again. But Hera had just smiled, tired, fond, and closed her eyes again.

Almost everyone else was in the main room: Hondo, Melch and Vizago in one corner, Mart curled up on the seats next to Ryder, fast asleep with a blanket thrown over him. As for Kal…

Zeb sighed and went to find him. He was likely down in the hold stewing.

It hadn’t been easy for him. Kal was soft under his somewhat prickly shell and Zeb knew that putting on the Imperial uniform again had cut deeper than Kallus had let on. 

_“It doesn’t feel right,_ ” Kallus had mumbled, back at their camp, straightening out the tight black fabric with hands that both of them pretended not to notice were shaking, _“I don’t think it ever did.”_

Then he’d paused and heaved in a breath, squinting up at Zeb’s face pensively. The skin over the bridge of his nose was a little darker than usual, Zeb had noted idly, the dark spots covering his skin more prominent. It stretched as the corner of his mouth twitched up, a small, wobbly thing.

“ _Do you think they’ll let me burn it, after?_ ” 

Zeb had tousled his hair just to make Kal squawk and swat at his arm (and to see the fine gold hair fall into those eyes, similar in colour to a Lasat’s but warmer, more alien, more human) and then said: “ _Who cares? We’ll light it up, Kal._ ”

Even now, back on the Ghost, Lothal cheering and free behind them, all that made it through the muggy fog in Zeb’s mind was _Kal, Kal, Kal._ How they had fought back to back at the camp, gravitating toward each other like magnets. The frankly incongruous spots Kal had all over his skin. The way his hair glowed in sunlight and all Zeb wanted to do was mess it up. One of the main things that Zeb noticed was that Kal had always been awfully colourful for an Imperial; and in any case Zeb could appreciate the symbolism of just how golden the human was. 

But there were other things, new things. How Kal had yelled _"Zeb, don't!"_ down in the reactors, his hand reaching for Zeb when he'd jumped. How his voice got all high and cracked when he was flustered or anxious, his face turning pink in what Zeb knew meant embarrassment. 

Zeb shook his head, snarling under his breath. It was irrational, stupid, like a fever dream. 

He waved a hand in greeting at Hondo and the other pirates, who surprisingly didn’t try to hold him up. Hondo gave him a somewhat knowing smile and Zeb grumbled a little at that, shoving his way into the corridor with more force than strictly necessary.

It was colder there. He took a deep breath, shaking himself and ruffling his fur in an attempt to get rid of the nagging anxiety. He took a few steps forward, the metal flooring cold against his feet, then stopped, pricking his ears for any distinguishable source of sound that could lead him to Kal quicker.

“Kal?” 

Unsurprisingly, there was no answer. Somehow, Zeb knew Kallus well enough that he knew that the ex-Imp was probably not stewing, per se, but rather beating himself up. 

Now that he thought about it, Kal's eyes, his entire expression, had been as bleak as the burning fields of Lothal, back at the base. The tremor in his entire body had screamed louder still. 

Zeb sighed and made his way over to the hatchet, sliding down the ladder into the hold with practised ease.

Kal had managed to squeeze himself into the corner, his arms looped around his legs and so curled into himself that his head was hanging between his knees. For someone who was nearly as tall as Zeb (in other words, tall for a human) and built accordingly, it was no mean feat. 

Zeb admired Kallus' flexibility for a brief second before it was washed away by a wave of concern.

“Kal?” He repeated, softer this time. “Can I come over?”

Kal lifted his head up, just enough for Zeb to see his frankly worrying expression. His hair was sticking out in tufts where he must've fisted his hands in it. His eyes were red, making those gold irises fever bright from the colour contrast. He was paler than usual, too, bruises stark under his eyes.

His gaze darted, anxious, a dying butterfly, over Zeb and across the room. Zeb's heart squeezed painfully at the way Kal's lips opened and closed soundlessly for a few seconds.

“Yes.” He whispered eventually. Then, softer still, a broken little breath: “Please.”

Zeb took two steps and sank down next to the human who had become no less than his best friend. The wall was cold and hard against his back and he knew that durasteel didn't warm up easily, so Kal had to be freezing. But Kallus didn't indicate much, just stared at the flooring for a long moment and then drew in a shuddering, hitching breath, dropping his face into his hands and scrubbing at it. 

“Is it okay if I touch you?” Zeb asked eventually.

“Thank you.” Kallus said nonsensically, a heavy word in the silence. 

“That's not a yes, Kal.”

“ _Yes,_ Zeb.”

Relieved at the admission, Zeb shuffled closer to the human, wrapped his arm round Kallus' shoulders and tucked him close, as close as he dared.

Kal remained stiff and awkward for about five seconds before melting into Zeb's side, head dropping onto Zeb's shoulder heavily. Zeb just squeezed him a little tighter and felt himself relax as Kallus shifted an increment to the right, slotting against Zeb like the missing piece of a lifelong puzzle.

Neither of them said anything. Kallus just drew himself in, curled up against Zeb like a tooka and let Zeb rest his cheek on top of his head. 

Kallus sighed. It felt monumental, for some reason: the way his chest expanded against Zeb’s, how his head bumped against Zeb’s jaw and then fell away incrementally again, how suddenly there was so much hanging between them, unspoken words and curling emotions sinking in the air around them. 

Zeb stayed quiet. Kallus found his hand, the one Zeb had left in his lap, and curled his own, smaller one around it. Wordlessly, he slipped his thumb between Zeb’s second and third fingers, and squeezed the back of his hand.

Zeb pushed his nose into Kallus’ hair, took a deep breath ( _smoke, fuel, something else that was uniquely_ Kal), and squeezed back.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Come chat, ask me stuff, vibe and/or yell at or with me [here!](https://thedisasternerd.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! (kudos and comments are very much appreciated 🥺)


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